


ultimately

by noctizanagi



Series: alien boy - an android's found family [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 08:32:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14951220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noctizanagi/pseuds/noctizanagi
Summary: Connor's worried about another incident like the one with RK900 - they really did look identical. What if it happened again?One thing leads to another, and it's only 5 AM - in the words of Hank Anderson, 'too early for this shit'.





	ultimately

**//  5:41 AM**

 

**> STATUS : FUNCTIONAL.**

 

Connor fiddled with his tie, gun sitting on the table across from him as his LED flickered to red.  _ RK900 was able to perfectly trick Hank. He looked like me. He… was me.  _ A shudder ran down his spine, the feeling of… fear, Connor would guess, unfamiliar. The ability to change one’s appearance was built into every android, even ones with practical purposes like the RK800 model. 

 

Maybe he should.

 

**> OBJECTIVE : CHANGE APPEARANCE**

 

**> > CHOOSE HAIR COLOR - INCOMPLETE**

 

The options scrolled through his mind, Connor eventually settling on a darker shade of blue that looked nice enough, while not standing out like his LED’s shade did. He walked to the bathroom and studied it in the mirror, expression curious as he ran a hand through it. 

 

**> > CHOOSE HAIR COLOR - COMPLETE**

 

**> > TAKE OUT LED - INCOMPLETE**

 

Connor sighed, running a finger across the yellow LED. He didn’t want to take it out, but everything in his programming was informing him that it was the logical course of action.  _ As Hank would say… fuck it.  _

 

The kitchen wasn’t supplied nearly as much as it should’ve been for someone who needed three meals a day and at least one snack, but Connor paid that no mind. It had knives, at least, and a knife was what he was looking for. He slid one out of its holder and held it to his head, digging the edge under the LED and - 

 

It popped off, falling to the floor. Connor picked it up and pocketed it.

 

**> > TAKE OUT LED - COMPLETE**

 

**> > FIND NEW CLOTHES - INCOMPLETE**

 

Connor considered his options. This objective would either involve leaving the house or stealing Hank’s clothes, neither with very high success rates. The clothes he had worn for the Jericho raid were torn and needed to be mended if he was going to wear them outside.  _ Success rate of buying new clothes without suitable disguise : 54%.  _ Hank’s sleeping form crossed out the other way for him - Connor would be caught if he tried to sneak in. 

 

This was supposed to be somewhat of a surprise, anyway.

 

Connor ran calculations, determining that he would have an hour to buy new clothes before he would have to be back if he mended the only other outfit he had.  _ Success rate of current plan : 85%.  _ It was better than before, so the android strode to his room and began collecting what he would need. The smaller, sub-objectives he registered danced to life in the corners of his vision as he scanned for what he needed.

 

It wasn’t long before he collected the clothing and sewing materials and sat on the floor, fingers moving with the fabric and mending the bullet rips and torn seams. 

 

-

 

Conner sat on the bus, beanie covering most of his hair except for a few tufts that managed to loosen themselves free. Nobody gave him a second glance when he got off, skirting around the human protesters (“They steal our jobs, and now our rights?!”) and making his way to the storefront. Plastic models, not androids, displayed different types of clothing, some of which Connor took note of.

 

He wasn’t quite used to his emotions, or the ability to ‘like’ things. It was unsettling - but then again, that was another unfamiliar emotion. Odd.

 

The flannel in the jacket aisle caught his eye, along with a comfortable looking sweatshirt that Connor thought Hank would like. The android picked out some professional clothes as well, adding them to the basket of colors and styles. In the end, he had seven regular outfits and five outfits he had picked out for work at the DPD. 

 

Connor changed when he got home. The beanie stayed, a constant - a present, from Hank. 

 

**> > FIND NEW CLOTHES - COMPLETE**

 

**> OBJECTIVE COMPLETED. **

 

**> NEW OBJECTIVE - WAIT FOR HANK.**

 

**> BEGINNING ROUTINE CHECK . . .**

 

**// 7:25 AM**

 

**> STATUS : FUNCTIONAL**

 

The system Connor had put in the place of the garden worked well. It depended on his thoughts and personal missions, and then displayed them like the orders from Cyberlife had been organized. There was no punishment for not completing them - it was similar to how humans would use their devices for to-do lists. 

 

But now? The objective was broad. It was on purpose, because there wasn’t much  _ to  _ do besides wait for the lieutenant, but Connor still felt nervous. 

 

Nervous. Another emotion that he didn’t know how to handle.

 

The possibilities played out in his mind - he could cook, watch TV, ‘sleep’, take Sumo for a walk - and Connor mused for a few minutes.  _ Time until Hank wakes up : 1 hour and 34 minutes, 23 seconds and counting.  _

 

“C’mon, Sumo, let’s go for a walk,” Connor suggested, a smile tugging at his lips as the dog barked. Happiness is something he had felt more often - hugging Hank, helping Markus, painting with Markus, too - and it felt more natural. Deviants were odd. “Here, boy!” 

 

The click of the leash around his collar was all Sumo needed to begin trotting down the sidewalk, leading Connor along the edges of the neighborhood. It was mostly quiet, the sun peaking at the edges of the horizon and giving off enough light for the two to see. The LED’s absence made its weight in Connor’s pocket heavier, one hand grabbing it if only for reassurance. He walked by a few humans, and no one commented - not a single person seemed to realize he was an android. 

 

_ I am well disguised. They’d have to look me over a bit before they would know anything was off.  _ The satisfaction of success filled Connor’s veins, eyes closing as he settled into the feeling. Being a deviant wasn’t so bad, after all.

 

-

 

**// 8:57 AM**

 

**> STATUS : FUNCTIONAL**

 

Pancakes were stacked on a plate, set on the kitchen table in hopes of luring Hank there once he woke up. Connor had almost memorized his morning schedule - wake up, eat a poor excuse for a breakfast, drink a beer or two, go to work, come home. Fear ran through the android’s mind again, deep-rooted; it reminded him why he didn’t like emotions sometimes. 

 

_ What if Hank doesn't like it? What if I made a mistake? _

 

**> RUNNING DIAGNOSTICS . . .**

 

**> STATUS : FUNCTIONAL.**

 

**> STRESS LEVEL : MEDIUM - 75 % **

 

**> STRESS LEVEL ^**

 

**> STRESS LEVEL : RISING**

 

Connor slipped the coin out of the kitchen’s junk drawer and began flicking it from hand to hand, mind counting down the seconds - it ticked to zero, and Hank’s loud groan echoed down the hallway. If he still had his LED, Connor thought it would be yellow, bordering red, but he didn’t, and that was a part of the stress.

 

He tried to steady the flow of blue blood through his biocomponents, cheeks tinged blue as if he was embarrassed. There wasn’t a reason for it until Hank stumbled into the kitchen, slumping into a seat with a glance at Connor. 

 

**> SCANNING . . .**

 

**> SCAN COMPLETE.**

 

**> > HANK ANDERSON **

 

**> > STRESS LEVEL : VERY LOW - 15 %**

 

The glance was all until the changes seemed to register within the lieutenant, and the glance turned into a long look. Connor fidgeted nervously with the coin behind his back, the simulation of breathing ceasing as he began to panick. Hank remained silent until he nodded, getting up and ruffling Connor’s hair. “New look. You still look goofy as hell, but it’s a nice change.”

 

**> STRESS LEVEL : MEDIUM - 50 %**

 

**> STRESS LEVEL : LOW - 25 %**

 

**> STRESS LEVEL : VERY LOW - 5 %**

 

> “Thanks, Hank.”

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't actually gotten the best ending to this game myself yet, but all I know is that I absolutely adore the father-son relationship between Hank and Connor,,  
> I don't think I ship them, but it’s a really nice dynamic nevertheless !
> 
> This was a spur of the moment fic, but its the first one in a series of Connor and the people he meets on his way to truly find himself.
> 
> Connor with dark blue hair? More likely than you would think.


End file.
